Desolation
by Anonyme
Summary: How do you move on when all seems lost?
1. Default Chapter

I really didn't think I'd write a post-Telling story. I didn't. And then I read the first chapter of Tempting Fate by Jude. And I had an idea. I asked Jude for her permission as the idea stemmed from something in her story and she said yes, so here we are. (And no Jude, I'm not blaming you for this, I take full responsibilty.g)

So this is Post-Telling. It is rated R. It's Vaughn's POV. **It will be 4 parts**, 3 of which are already done. There are no spoilers. (I've been spoiler free and Jen checked just to make sure there wasn't anything even remotely spoilery and she said there wasn't.)

Thanks to Jen for the spoiler check and the excellent beta. Thanks to Jude for letting me run with this insane idea. Also thanks to Jude for the title. You two really are the best.

I've also been told a tissue warning might be necessary. I don't think so, but I'm evil. 

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Desolation

With my forehead against the pane as a vigil of sorrow 

_I search for you beyond expectation_

_Beyond myself._

_I love you so much that I no longer know _

_Which one of us is absent._

Le Front aux Vitres - Paul Eluard

********

I walk away from him, leaving him standing there in line, waiting for his bags. Not a word has been spoken since we landed. Then again, there is nothing left to say. After fourteen months, neither of us wants to face the truth. The truth that she might not be coming back.

I wind my way through the busy terminal, doing my best to ignore the couples hugging all around me. The laughing smiles, the welcoming embraces, the whispers of _I missed you_ only serve to remind me of what I've lost. 

I step outside and find Weiss waiting. I knew he'd be here; he's always here waiting for us when we return. I nod to him and slide into the back seat. Five minutes later, Jack emerges and soon we are on the highway heading back to the Ops Center.

The drive doesn't take long, not at this time of night. When Weiss turns into the garage, I finally speak for the first time. "Can you just drop me off at my car?"

"Kendall wants to…" Weiss begins. He stops abruptly when he sees my reflection in the rear view mirror. "Sure," he finishes quietly.

He slowly pulls up next to my car and I get out. Almost immediately, I stick my head back inside. "Do you mind if I come get Donovan tomorrow?" 

"No problem. Maybe we can go play some ball afterwards."

I nod my head absently before closing the door. I stand back and wait for them to leave, but they don't. Instead, Jack rolls down his window. "What do you want me to tell Kendall?"

I stare at him as I try to think of an answer. After a moment, I finally give the only one that comes to mind. "I don't care."

Jack nods and the window slides back into place. He no longer questions me about going inside after one of our failed searches. The first few times after she disappeared, it hadn't been necessary. No matter what my physical (or emotional) state might have been at the time, I always insisted that I was more than capable of going over the latest leads, the latest intel.

But now, after so many months, so many locations, so many dead ends, the possibility of a new lead just doesn't seem possible any more. And I can't face the questioning glances, the knowing looks, the pity that always finds its way to their eyes. Jack doesn't seem to have this problem. Since Sydney disappeared, I've only seen him lose control of his emotions once. I only wish I could say the same.

I watch as Weiss slowly pulls away before turning to my car. I unlock the door and tiredly climb inside. This time was supposed to be different. I… No, it's not just me and I know this, so why do I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not alone here; that I'm not the only one who lost her? _We _ thought we'd finally had a credible lead. The photograph had been tangible proof after so many mirages. 

I lean back into the seat, smiling ruefully. I should have known before we'd even left that the intel was too good to be true. But I still had hope; this belief that since I wanted her back so badly that it was going to happen. _Eventually,_ it would happen.

When we arrived in Monte Carlo two days ago, I'd felt more positive than I had in months. The grainy surveillance photo showed Sydney, or someone who looked very much like her, walking into a casino. The entire plane trip over the Atlantic, I did nothing but stare at the picture, looking for some sign that this was just another trick. I couldn't find a single one. I realize now that I didn't want to.

So when Jack and I reached the casino, we decided to split up. I found her first. This woman who should have been Sydney. When she turned around, I knew it had all been for nothing. I apologized quickly and turned away just as Jack approached the table. I stopped him as he was about to speak. "It's not her."

For a moment, the Jack Bristow that I had known for three years resurfaced. "I think I'd prefer to see for myself."

He tried to push me aside, but I held my ground. In the end it hadn't even been necessary. Just as I started to tell him that it wasn't Sydney, the woman, I later learned her name was Tessa, turned around and left the table. He started to follow her, but I put my hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "Jack, it's not Sydney," I stated quietly. For a moment, he stood completely still before nodding sadly and leaving the room quickly.

We stayed one more day, checking with the other hotels and casinos, even going so far as to follow Tessa as she and a friend did some shopping. When I looked at the photo as they entered the last store, I knew that I'd only seen what I wanted to see. And Jack had done the same.

On the way to the airport, the cab driver had the radio on. I didn't listen at first, my mind too preoccupied with our latest failure. It wasn't until we were almost to the terminal that I heard a song I recognized, but I still tried to tune it out. 

In the weeks following her disappearance, I still listened to the radio. But then it got to the point that every song I heard reminded me of her. Reminded me of her laughing, crying, smiling, being serious. Finally, I couldn't listen any longer.

All through the security check and boarding, there was something about that song that stayed with me and I wasn't sure why. Once we were over the Atlantic, I looked down at the water and the words that had been at the edge of my consciousness for the last hour finally registered.

…_Elle cherche pour y voir une signe pour lui donner l'espoir_

_que par miracle il est sauvé _

_et toutes sa prières sont exausées…_

And with those simple, sorrowful words, everything that had happened since Sydney disappeared came crashing down. It was suddenly clear that even though we'd told ourselves that all these infernal wild goose chases had been about finding Sydney, it had been about more than that. It had been about _hoping _to find evidence that she was still alive, _hoping_ that everything we had been doing was not in vain. And now I feared that hope was gone. 

I didn't even realize I'd started crying until the flight attendant asked if everything was alright. I nodded my head as I looked at Jack. I wanted to explain, but was unable to find the words. But as it turned out, none were necessary. He'd understood as well.

I slip the key into the ignition and drive out of the garage. I drive around aimlessly, almost going so many places. The pier, the Palisades, the park, the train station, the warehouse, the Observatory. Each place held a different memory, all of them precious. But I didn't go to any of the places we'd been together. Instead, I finally ended up here. 

I turn off the engine and get out, standing just outside the entryway. I could go through, but there'd be no point. She's not here. Maybe it would be easier if she was. At least then we'd know and we'd have somewhere to go to be with her. As bad as that would be, I still think that, in a way, it would be better than this never-ending limbo we are in now.

Looking out at the sea of headstones, I wonder if this is still where she'd want to be. She'd told me once, right after she started working as a double agent, that if anything ever happened to her, she wanted to be buried here. Next to him. Next to Danny. But that was before we… That was before.

I walk slowly back to the car. I suppose that I will have to discuss this with Jack. It's not something I'm looking forward to. I still can't give up hoping that we'll find her, and doing something like this would be admitting that we never will. But I honestly don't know how much longer I can hang on to this, this _hope_. 

It's not like I haven't given up before. I have. Four months after she disappeared, we'd gotten intel that led us to Rome. As we passed the Vatican, I tried desperately not to think of the last time I was there.

After searching the location thoroughly, twice, and finding nothing, Jack, Eric, and I went back to the hotel to await word from Devlin as to what we should do next. The waiting finally got the better of me and I had to get out of the room. I wandered around the streets of Rome for maybe an hour before I ended up at the one place I should not have gone.

I remember looking up at the sign, _Trattoria de Nardi,_ and as much as I wanted to leave, something made me stay. I took the table I'd always imagined sharing with Sydney and I ordered two glasses of wine. When the waitress tried to remove the other place setting, I told her just to leave it.

I know she thought I was crazy. I really didn't care. As I sat there waiting for her to return, I fingered the chain around my neck, the one I'd been wearing since the day after Sydney disappeared. When she brought the glasses to the table, I placed the second on the opposite side of the table. I said a silent toast, a prayer, and took a sip.

I'd just set the glass back on the table when there was a commotion outside. I glanced up quickly and that's when I saw her, being forced into a car. For one brief second, our eyes met and then she was gone.

I was on my feet before I even realized it. The car was already halfway down the street before I'd made it out of the restaurant, but I took off running. Two blocks later, the car was out of sight. In vain, I tried to find some way to catch up to it, but I knew there was no use.

I was still standing in the middle of the street when Eric came up behind me. In between gasps, he asked me what the hell I thought I was doing. When I told him, he just shook his head at me. I don't remember hitting him. Honestly, I don't. I just stalked off, walking back towards the restaurant. 

Suddenly I found myself forced up against a wall, staring at my best friend. When I asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, he told me he'd seen the woman who'd been put in the car. When he told me it wasn't Sydney, I just shook my head, and shook myself from his grip.

Again, I started back to the restaurant and again I found myself backed against the wall. When he started screaming at me, telling me that I had to face the fact that we'd been set up, I just shut down. As painful as being that close and losing her was, hearing that it hadn't been her was more than I could take.

All at once, just breathing seemed to take more effort than it was worth. The rest of that night and the trip back are a blur. When we got back to L.A., I didn't even wait for Weiss and Jack. I just took a cab and…

I shake my head, trying to forget the rest of that night, knowing I never will. I start the car and drive away from the cemetery, but I can't go home. Ever since that night in Rome, I never seem to be able to go there right away.

At least this time as I turn on to the highway I have a destination in mind. It only takes about twenty minutes and I'm here. I pull into the driveway where her SUV is still parked and stare at the darkened house. 

And like all the other times in the past ten months, I sit here thinking about that last night and the ones that have followed. I remember telling her about the hotel, about the fact that we were finally, _finally_ going to go on that elusive weekend trip. I'd kissed her and told her I'd pick her up after the debrief. And then I drove away.

I turn off the engine and get out of the car, knowing it's what I should have done that night. As I find the key to the lock on my key ring, I can't help thinking that I could have prevented what happened. It's funny that now I understand what Sydney meant when she talked about regretting not being there when Danny was killed. I just wish I didn't.

The key slides into the lock and for a brief moment, I don't see the darkened room before me. I see the disaster I walked in on over fourteen month before. I see the overturned and broken furniture. I see the shattered vase; wilting flowers scattered over the counter and on the floor. Everywhere I look, I see destruction.

My head drops slightly and my eyes close. Taking a deep breath, I reopen them and I see the room as it is now, as it always should have been. I slowly walk through the door, closing it carefully behind me. I don't turn on the lights, even though I could.

Once the police had released the apartment, Jack had gone to whatever means necessary to return it to the way Sydney had it before she disappeared. He even bought the apartment from the rental agency. He wanted it to be here for her when she returned. 

In some ways, I think it would have been easier if Jack had let it go. Then I couldn't come here and remember. I wouldn't be able to walk into the kitchen and remember leaning against the counter, watching her as she prepared that first dinner for us. The one that had ended up needing to be reheated because our hunger for each other took the place of our need for food.

I walk over to the couch, running my hand across the back. I smile as I remember the night we came back here after the debrief from hell. I think about how glad I was that Francie and Will weren't here, but that only reminds me that I never met Francie. Not the _real_ Francie.

I pull my hand back, shoving it in my pocket as I continue to wander around the darkened room. Sometimes, the worst part of coming here is the silence. It's not as though Sydney ever made that much noise, but when she was here, the quiet was comfortable. Now it's oppressive.

Just like that first time after Jack had everything fixed and replaced. That night we returned from Rome. I didn't know at the time why I gave the driver this address. I still don't. But that night… When I walked in and saw everything as it had been prior to Sydney's disappearance, I actually had to stop myself from calling out to her. It was then that I learned that silence could be both a friend and an enemy. It was that night I knew I'd never be able to stay away again.

When I'd arrived, I honestly didn't know what I would find. I hadn't been here since the police had released the apartment. Jack once asked me what I wanted to do with the things I'd left here. He'd never asked again. As I walked in, I figured out why.

Everything was as it had been before we'd left for Mexico City. _Everything_. The furniture that had been ruined as Sydney struggled with the woman she'd thought was her friend had been replaced with an exact copy. A copy of the vase that had been shattered occupied the same spot the original had always occupied.

I never thought to ask how Jack knew where everything belonged. I knew it couldn't have been from memory because he'd never spent much time here. But the hows and the whys didn't matter. What mattered was that it was all the same.

Maybe finding that everything had been replaced is what set me off. Maybe it was just the knowledge that even though the apartment had been put back to rights, the one thing that could never be replaced was what was still missing. Sydney.

Whatever it was isn't important. What is important is that night the dam finally broke. Everything I'd forced out of my mind, everything I'd been avoiding – _repressing_ -, just couldn't be ignored any longer.

I'd like to say that I didn't know what I was doing. But I did. I overturned the furniture. I broke that damn vase. I dumped the knives from the drawer. I tore through the house until it was like the nightmare I walked into when I came to pick her up.

When I made it to her bedroom, I swear I could see traces of blood on the wall. I could see the gouges in the wall paper. I could see what had once been a mirror, the glass and wood lying shattered and splintered on the floor. And there, surrounded by the shards of glass and pieces of wood, I could see Sydney, unconscious and bleeding, lying near the window.

The memory hit hard and left me physically ill. When Weiss and the other agents had arrived that night, I'd told them I'd found Will and Francie – no, not Francie, Allison- but when Eric asked me about Sydney, I couldn't respond. I wasn't able to answer. 

It must have been shock; at least that's what Barnett told me later. Shock was what caused me to block out the fact that she'd been taken while I was checking on Will as she had asked. Shock caused me to block out the fact I'd found her at all.

Standing there in the room where I'd lost her had been too much. I walked through the dark room to the bed and sat down, eventually lying down on Sydney's side of the bed. I pulled a pillow out from under the comforter and hugged it to my chest. Sleep finally came and with it, dreams. Dreams that have haunted me ever since.

Later the next day, Weiss, on a hunch, found me still lying on the bed with a picture of Sydney and her friends in the frame I'd given her next to me, the pillow still clutched to my chest. I tried to get him to leave me alone, but he refused. When I started talking about having found her, I know he thought I was talking about the woman in Rome. And then he understood that I wasn't talking about Rome.

The realization had him staring at me like I'd finally snapped. I don't remember him calling Barnett; there's a lot about those days I don't remember; but when she arrived, I was almost glad to see her. Almost.

I shake my head as I step into the room. What I discovered in the weeks that followed was that talking to Barnett was the easy part. Even the dreams were relatively easy to handle. The hardest thing I had to do was look into Jack's eyes knowing that he knew I'd found her and lost her.

I almost gave up at that point. But I didn't. Maybe it was the look in Jack's eyes. It wasn't an accusatory glare like I'd expected. No, that I think I could have walked away from. I could have walked away from the agent, the consummate professional. But the distraught father was something else entirely. So I continued. We continued. It was the only thing we could do.

I take my shoes off at the foot of the bed, placing my suit coat and tie over the chair in the corner before I walk around to the other side. Sydney's side. I pull the pillow from under the comforter and grab the blanket at the foot of the bed. Most nights I pray for a dreamless sleep. But as I lay down and drag the blanket over myself, I find myself hoping that tonight is different.

Tbc…

Additional AN-the lyrics are from the song La Tempete by Tara McLean. 

Roughly translated they mean She searches for a sign to give her hope that miraculously he was saved and all her prayers were answered. 


	2. Desolation chapter 2

Please see part 1 for all disclaimers. Thanks again to Jen for the beta and thanks to Steph for making me think about a couple of things I hadn't really thought about.

Becky

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_When love is torn apart one cannot gather the pieces._

_ Proverb_

I reach out and my hand brushes against her warm skin. I slowly open my eyes and meet her warm brown ones. I watch as she smiles and slides closer as her hands begin tracing a path down my chest. 

A gentle push and I'm on my back as she continues to torture me with feather-light caresses, each touch more erotic, more arousing than the last. I try to speak, but she presses a finger to my lips as she moves over me, hovering above me. I look up at her, silently pleading with her to end this torment.

Her smile grows, becoming more feral as she shakes her head, letting me know that I'm at her mercy. I close my eyes as she wraps her hand around me, stroking me gently before guiding me to her. I hear her soft moan as she slowly takes me into her. 

I press my head back into the pillow as she starts a gentle rhythm. Reaching out, I place my hands on her hips urging her to move faster, but they slide off her slick skin. When she suddenly stops moving, I open my eyes and lift my head slightly. 

Her head is down, her hair hiding her features. I try to sit up, but she places her hands on my chest as she tries to steady herself. Slowly, she lifts her head and I'm shocked by the tears streaming down her cheeks. Before I can ask what's wrong, she pierces me with her gaze.

Her voice is soft and pained. "How could you?"

She leans closer and I wipe away her tears. "Syd, what are you talking about?" I ask as she lowers her head to my chest, gulping air between sobs.

She lifts her head and I see blood staining her skin where I tried to wipe away her tears. "How could you let them take me?"

"Sydney!" I shout, bolting upright in bed. It takes a minute, it always takes a minute, before the dream fades away, leaving the horrifying nightmare of reality in its wake. I fling the sheets aside, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I sit here in the dark, my chin resting on my chest, my hands mercilessly grasping the bottom sheet as I try to steady my ragged breathing.

I hear a sound in the hall and I'm off the bed and next to the door in an instant. When it flies open, I reach out, grabbing the intruder and slamming him against the wall. A muffled curse and my hands drop to my side. I turn away and walk slowly back to the bed. Sitting carefully on the edge, I rest my elbows on my knees, my hands cradling my head as I wait for the lecture I know is forthcoming.

Eric remains silent for longer than I ever thought possible, but eventually that silence is broken. "Mike, this has got to stop."

At least his statement wasn't unexpected. It's been a month since Monte Carlo. Fifteen months since she vanished. "You don't understand."

Weiss turns on the light, blinding me. "Jesus…"

My eyes finally adjust to the light and I look up at him. "What?" I ask, not even trying to hide my anger and frustration.

"Have you taken a look at yourself lately?"

If I'd known he was going to turn into my mother, I never would have asked him over to watch the ball game. Now I just wish I hadn't let him crash on the couch. "Go home, Eric."

He storms over to where I'm sitting and yanks me up by my arm. Pushing me roughly into the bathroom, he forces me against the sink, holding me there as he reaches for the light switch. I know what he's trying to do, but it won't work.

"Take a good look, Mike."

My eyes fall to the counter as I refuse to look at my reflection. Suddenly my head is jerked back and I have no choice but to look.

"Do you even recognize yourself?" Weiss shouts at the mirror before continuing, "Because I sure as hell don't!"

I jab my elbow into his side and stalk out of the bathroom, heading for the kitchen. Pulling the refrigerator door open, I grab a beer and pop the cap, downing half of it before I slam the door shut. 

Weiss follows a moment later still rubbing his side. "Listen, I know this is hard for you. It's hard for everyone, but slowly killing yourself isn't going to change what happened and it sure as hell won't bring Sydney back."

"Go _home,_ Eric!"

He starts to speak, but seems to think better of it. Turning around he walks back into the living room. A couple of minutes later I walk in and see him looking for something. "What's wrong?"

"I can't find my fucking keys."

"Eric…"

He turns around quickly. "You know, I don't really want to hear anything you've got to say right now so if you'll help me find my goddamn keys, I'll get out of here and then you can go back to blaming yourself for something that isn't your fault."

"I left her alone!"

"Bullshit! You went to check on Will just like she asked you to do."

"You son-of-a-bitch!"

He finds his keys and stalks over to the door. He turns back after he opens it. "If trying to remind you that none of this is your fault makes me a son-of-a-bitch, then so be it." 

He pauses briefly. "Listen Mike, she's been gone for fifteen months. And in that time we've been lead on so many wild goose chases, I've lost count. And each time we come back you close yourself off a little more. You act like you are the only one who lost her. Well you're not. You remember Marshall and Dixon? Hell while we're at it, let's not forget me. She was our friend and we still miss her. For Christ sake, Jack was her father and even he is handling this better than you."

"She's not dead." I shake my head at the thought, quietly adding, "She can't be."

"You keep telling yourself that. Keep playing the martyr. Maybe one of these days you'll get good at it." He's almost out the door, but he turns back. "Oh, and you can call me whatever name you like, but when this is all said and done, are you still going to be able to call me your friend?"

He closes the door behind him, leaving me alone with my beer. And my guilt.

Tbc…


	3. Desolation chapter 3

Please see part 1 for all disclaimers. As usual, I don't own the characters, I just want to play with them for a bit.

Thanks for reading!

Becky

PS-I've been told a tissue warning _might_ be necessary here. J

_Love's pleasures last but a moment,_

_Love's pain lasts a lifetime._

Saint John Perse

I sit at my desk, playing with the report I'm supposed to be working on. Since that night four weeks ago, I've tried to be more like my old self. My pre-Sydney self. I even allow myself to be dragged to a bar every now and again. Sometimes I even let myself have a good time. And then I go home and the reality of her absence overwhelms me.

I've gotten better at hiding the fact that I still crave her presence, her smile, her voice, her touch. Weiss tells me he's glad I've rejoined the land of the living. I just wonder if he actually believes it.

As hard as it is to go home or to even go to Sydney's, I think it's harder being here because I still expect to see her walk around the corner. I expect to see her chatting with Marshall or Dixon. I expect to see her arguing with Kendall or her father. I just expect to _see_ her.

Lately, I've thought a lot about asking for a transfer. As much as I hate to admit Weiss is ever right about anything, I know I need to start moving on. And I'll never be able to do that here. Not here where Sydney's shadow still lingers.

A phone rings at Dixon's desk and I realize that the only thing I should be working on is that request for transfer. It's time. Pushing the file back on my desk, I close the document I had open and start a new one. Reaching for my coffee, I'm disgusted to find it's gone completely cold.

I grab the mug and go to get a fresh cup. But just as I reach for the coffee pot, I hear Dixon shouting for me and Jack. And then I hear him call for a trace. I leave the coffee without a second thought and run over, unsure of what's going on. 

Only when Jack arrives at the desk does Dixon put his call on speakerphone. Through the static we are just barely able to make out the words. But the words aren't what's important. It's the voice. "Sydney?"

Pushing Dixon aside, I take the phone. Frantically, I ask where she is, if she's ok. The answers mean little; just hearing her voice is more than enough because it proves she's alive.

Marshall runs over, telling us the trace is complete just as the line goes dead. Ten minutes later, we are on the way to the warehouse, Jack and Dixon in the first car, Weiss and I in the second.

All the way there, all I can think about is the fact that it wasn't just me who heard her. We all did. And we all reached the same conclusion, so I know this can't just be my mind playing tricks on me. Weiss tries to caution me, tries to remind me of the photo from Monte Carlo, the woman in Rome. He reminds me of every dead end we've come up against, but I can only think about the fact that it was her voice and that the answers were in real time. It wasn't a tape. It couldn't have been.

Unlike the nights when we've returned from distant locations, the traffic today is bumper to bumper. And as the minutes pass, I play with the cross -my father's cross- which I've worn since she disappeared. And I pray that I'm right and Eric is wrong.

********

We finally arrive and it's all I can do to keep myself from rushing into the building, into what could be a trap. But when the single gunshot rings out, none of us hesitate. The hesitation comes a minute later when we stand on the other side of the gate looking at the woman slumped over in the chair, her medium-length brown hair cascading forward, covering her features.

Dixon is the first to step forward and as he does, I take a step back. And then I take another. And another. And then I'm back outside. I hear Weiss calling me but I continue walking, stopping only when I reach the car. I get in quickly and for once I'm glad Weiss has never broken his habit of leaving the keys in the ignition.

I start the car just as Eric runs outside. Putting it in gear, I don't even acknowledge that I've seen him. When I'm back on the highway, my phone starts to ring, but I don't answer. I already know it wasn't Sydney in that building. It was just another cruel joke. 

The drive to Sydney's takes me forty-five minutes. If I'm lucky, I'll have an hour before Weiss and Jack show up looking for me. And that should give me just enough time to do what I need to do.

Today I don't have to search for the key. It's just there in my hand, and then it's in the lock, and then I'm inside. Unlike all the other times I've come here, I don't linger over memories. Not today.

I walk over to the desk and grab several sheets of paper and three envelopes. I walk over to the bar and sit down, retrieving a pen from my coat pocket. I quickly jot a note to Weiss, asking him to watch Donovan for a few days.

The one I write to Jack takes a little longer. I ask him to please understand why I need to do what I'm doing. And then I tell him that when I get back I'm going to ask for a transfer.

I sit staring at a blank sheet for the longest time before I finally start the third letter. By the time I finish, I feel dead. Like an automaton, I fold each sheet and place each in its respective envelope.

Grabbing them from the counter, I numbly walk to her bedroom. Placing the first two on the nightstand, I place the third on her pillow. I look around the room and this time all I see are four walls. 

Reaching around my neck I undo the chain that hangs there and remove it. I do the same with the key on my key ring. I walk slowly to the bed and place both next to the envelope that already rests there. 

I walk into the living room and move quickly to the front door. I know that my actions today mean that I will have to learn to live with the possibility of never knowing what happened to her. It means that I will have to learn to _live_ again. I'm just not sure I'll ever be able to really let her go. Honestly, I don't know if I _want_ to.

I reach the door and rest my hand on the door knob. I glance behind me, taking a good look around. And then I open the door walk out for the last time.


	4. Desolation chapter 4

For all those fun disclaimers, please see the first part.

Thanks to Jen for the beta.

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In the lonely light of morning,

in the wound that would not heal,

it's the bitter taste of losing everything that I've held so dear

Fallen – Sarah McLachlan

I feel her hand brush lightly against my cheek and I smile. Slowly, I open my eyes to find her staring intently at me. "What?" I ask.

She shakes her head slightly. "It's nothing."

I draw her to me, molding her body to mine. I place a kiss on her forehead and run my fingers through her hair. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?" I whisper against the skin of her neck.

She scoffs at my words and shifts slightly, breaking my hold. "How can you say that?"

I try to place my hand on her shoulder but she shrugs it off. There is less than an inch of space separating us, but right now it feels like miles. Sighing, I sit up, running my hand through my hair. "How can I say what?"

For a moment, she just looks at me, and then she gets up and walks toward the window. She stares out the window for a few minutes before she turns back to me. Her face is shadowed, but I can tell she's crying. "How can you say that you love me?"

I get up quickly, joining her by the window. "Syd, what's wrong? Why would you doubt that I love you?"

She leans against me and rests her head against my chest. She pulls my arms around her, holding them tight. "If you loved me, you wouldn't give up."

Instantly, I'm awake. I sit up and look around the room, surprised when I don't see the familiar furnishings of Sydney's apartment. And then I remember. I'm not at Sydney's. But I hear a voice, so soft, so familiar, that I can't help calling out to her. When the music begins, I look to my right and see the radio. _It was just a voice on the radio._

I take a deep breath as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I reach for the glass that sits on the nightstand, draining the contents in one gulp. The alcohol burns as it goes down, but I don't care.

I reach for the bottle and pour another before I get up and walk over to the window. I pull back the curtains and gaze outside. Normally, the sight of the Eiffel Tower calms me. And maybe if I were in Paris, it would. But I'm not in Paris. 

I look past the famed landmark and the neon lights of the Las Vegas Strip glare back at me. I let the drapes fall back into place as I take another drink. I wander back to the bed and sit down thinking about the cab driver who brought me here. How ironic is it that when I told him to just take me to his favorite hotel, he would have to choose Paris?

I finish the contents of my glass and reach for the bottle again. What's left barely covers the bottom of the glass, so I set both back on the nightstand and get up, going over to the desk. As I slip my shoes on, I retrieve the card key and some cash and head downstairs.

********

I walk through the lobby on my way to the little liquor store I found when I first got here. This time I look around a bit, something I didn't do when I first arrived. Then again, after I'd checked in, all I'd cared about was getting a bottle and going to my room. Before that, all that had mattered was escaping L.A. I didn't even decide where I was going until I was standing in front of the departures board at the airport.

Once I reach my destination, I just stand outside thinking about the past twenty-four hours. I think about the messages Eric and Jack left on my voicemail. I think about the call I returned to Weiss, letting him know I was okay. I think about how hard he tried to reassure me that it wasn't Sydney's body we'd discovered in the warehouse. I think about Sydney. And then I don't want to think anymore.

I walk inside and go straight to the fifths. I grab a bottle and go to the counter. I see the same girl who was here the first time I came in. She looks at me curiously, but says nothing as she rings up my purchase. I hand her some money and wait as she counts back my change. And then I leave.

I go back to the bank of elevators and I wait. One finally arrives and I step inside. The doors are about to close when a hand grabs one of the doors. Automatically they open back up and a man steps aside, allowing his bride to enter first. 

Five floors later, they exit and I feel more alone than I ever thought possible. When I finally reach my floor, I get out, and before the door to my room even has a chance to close, I've removed the cap and the bottle is at my lips. But as the first drop dances over my tongue, I pull it away, throwing it against the opposite wall. The bottle shatters and the amber liquid trails down the wall, my tears mimicing the action of the alcohol.

I slide to the floor, my head resting against the door as months of hopes and fears, months of wishes and dreams, months of nightmares and haunting reality smother me. And when I finally close my eyes it's with the knowledge that to me, she is finally and truly gone.

TBC…


	5. Desolation chapter 5

_To hide the key to your heart is to risk forgetting where you placed it._

Timothy Childers

I wake up several hours later, still on the floor, my head pounding and my neck stiff. I slowly get to my feet and make my way over to where the bottle lies shattered on the carpet. I start picking up the pieces, knowing that the glass is only the beginning.

Next, I go and get a damp cloth from the bathroom and wipe off the wall. I briefly wonder how I will explain the alcohol that the carpet soaked up, but then I decide I don't really care. Having to pay a few extra dollars on my hotel bill is the least of my worries.

When I'm done cleaning, I go back to the bathroom, dropping the wash cloth in the sink. Leaning forward, I stare at my reflection. The question Eric asked me a month ago echoes in my head as the answer stares back at me. I _don't_ recognize myself. As I try to become familiar with the stranger in the mirror, I vow to myself that, whatever it takes, one day I will.

I quickly discard my clothes and step into the shower, making the water as hot as I can stand it. I brace my arms against the wall, allowing the water to beat down on me. Ten minutes later, I step out and rub a towel quickly over my head before wrapping it around my waist.

I go back into the bedroom and sit down on the bed. Reaching over, I grab the phone and order breakfast. By the time it arrives, I can actually declare myself presentable.

After breakfast, I go downstairs. I do a little shopping and even go in to the casino and stick some quarters into a few of the slot machines. When I come out an hour later and one hundred dollars ahead, I see the couple from the elevator coming out of one of the shops.

I don't know why, by I can't help following them, watching as they do things - normal, mundane things - that couples do. Things that I did with Sydney. Things that I wanted to do with Sydney. Things I'll never again get the chance to do with Sydney.

I turn away and walk to the closest of the hotel's six bars. I order a double and take it to a table in the corner. I nurse it, thinking about the fact that my resolve lasted all of three hours. I'm not kidding myself. I know this is going to be hard, but now I've started to wonder what will happen if I can't let this, let _her,_ go. I'm reaching for the glass again when a waitress sets another glass on the table in front of me. I look up at her, confused. "I didn't order this."

She smiles back at me. "The lady at the bar sends her compliments."

I push it back towards her. "Thanks, but no thanks."

She raises her eyebrows and shakes her head before picking the drink back up and returning to the bar. I reach for my glass again and take a small sip. I don't know how long I sit here before the glass returns.

This time when I look up, I'm looking into the familiar eyes of an old friend.

"Well, Michael, I've never known you to refuse a drink from a woman before. Not very gentlemanly."

A smile creeps across my face. It's not the fake one I've used for the last several months. It's a _genuine_ smile. "Sophie?"

"Why is it that everyone always calls me Sophie? It's not like it's a shorter version of my name or anything." She points to the chair. "Mind if I sit?"

I stand up quickly, pulling the seat out for her. "Please do. And to answer your question, you just don't seem like a Sophia. It's too…"

"It's _too_ what?" she interrupts, her tone mischievous.

"Well I was going to say it's too sophisticated."

"Michael!" she squeals, slapping my shoulder.

"What?" I ask, feigning surprise at her reaction. "I said that's what I _was_ going to say."

"So what _are_ you going to say?" she asks as she reaches over and grabs my wrist, her nails digging slightly into my skin.

"Can I plead the Fifth?"

"Um," she pauses briefly before finishing. "NO!"

I extricate myself from her grasp, holding my arms in front of me in surrender. "Fine. I think it just seems too old for you."

She leans back in the chair, smiling. "I take back what I said about you not being gentlemanly," she states before taking a sip of her club soda.

I smile again. "So what are you doing here?"

She waves her hand in the air dismissively, "Oh, you know, this and that."

"In other words, you didn't have anything to do and decided to go to Vegas for a few days."

"Since when has Vegas _ever_ been my idea of a fun getaway destination?"

I close my eyes, mentally chastising myself for what I've said. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay." She sees I'm about to apologize again and she stops me. "Really, Mike, it's okay. Ancient history." She takes a drink of her soda and leans forward. "Actually, I'm working. The magazine is doing an article on the hotel. I drew the short straw," she explains quietly.

I nod and reach for my glass. We don't speak for several minutes, each of us leaning back in our chairs relaxing, the silence neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. And then she just announces, "You look like shit."

I'm about to take a drink when she blurts that out. I just shake my head, my drink momentarily forgotten. "I see you still have your way with words."

She moves her chair so that she's sitting right next to me. Her hand lightly brushes my arm before she latches on to my wrist again. "Michael, I'm serious. I've never seen you like this. Even after…"

"I'm fine, Soph," I interrupt quickly. Downing the contents of my glass, I set it back on the table. "Really." I can see she's about to object so I hurriedly add, "You look good, though. Marriage must agree with you."

"No it doesn't and stop trying to change the subject. What the hell is going on? You having problems with Alice again?"

"No." I only wish it were something as simple as that. I reach for that drink I rejected once before. She deftly moves it just out of reach as my fingers brush the glass. I sit back in my chair and glare at her. Suddenly this little reunion has become something less than amusing. "What do you want, Sophia?" I ask, making sure I stress the _a_ at the end of her name.

"Gone to my full name now. I must have hit a nerve."

"Sophie…" I know she can tell my patience is wearing very thin. What she doesn't realize is that there's none left.

"Fine, you want to know what I want? Okay, here it is. I want you to tell me what's going on. You don't normally sit in a bar at ten in the morning nursing a double shot of Jack on the rocks. So if it isn't Alice…"

"Damn it!" I yell as I lunge forward, grabbing the shot glass before she can move it again. I upend the glass, finish the shot in one gulp, and slam it back down on the table. I grab her hand, holding it in mine with a little more pressure than is necessary. "You want to know what's wrong? Well here it is. Sydney, my girlfriend, a woman I loved more than I ever thought possible, disappeared sixteen months ago without a trace while I was in the next room. _The next fucking room_. And in those sixteen months, I've seen her outside a restaurant in Rome. I've seen her in a casino in Monte Carlo. And, oh yeah, I've seen her dead in Los Angeles. So does that answer your God damn question?"

I finish my rant and try to flag down the waitress. I'm surprised to see the bartender is almost to our table. "Is there a problem here?" he asks, glaring at me before he turns his attention to Sophie. 

"Everything's fine," she reassures him.

"You're sure?"

She smiles at him. "Yes."

He turns to go back to the bar, telling me when I ask for another drink that he thought I'd already had enough. I collapse against the chair, my anger, my frustration, suddenly gone. I look at the woman beside me expecting her to bolt. Instead, she slowly leans forward and wraps her arms around me.

"I'm _so_ sorry," she whispers. And I can tell she means it. And it's my undoing.

********

"She was in the next room. She asked me to go check on her friend and when I came back, she was just, _gone_."

She pushes the coffee she'd ordered for me forward. "Michael, it's not your fault. She asked you to go make sure her friend, Will, was okay. You couldn't have known that this would happen. And if you hadn't gone, what would you have done, what would Sydney have done if Will had died?" She stops for a moment before continuing. "And if you hadn't gone, Sydney might have still disappeared."

"I would have been there to stop them."

"And you might have been killed. Honestly, whoever took her must not have wanted you dead."

"What?"

"Michael, you were in the next room. They had to know it. From what you've just told me, Will would have been no help and you weren't prepared to defend yourself. You could have been killed."

I hadn't really thought about it, but she might be right. If only that made a difference to me. "I should never have left her alone," I mutter sadly.

"You did what she asked. If you hadn't, maybe she wouldn't have been kidnapped. And if she hadn't what would she have done if you had let Will die because you were more concerned about her safety than she was? Would she have been able to forgive you? Would you have been able to forgive yourself?"

"I don't know," I answer honestly.

"Can I ask you something?"

I nod, "Go ahead."

"If Sydney saw you right now, what would she say?"

I start to answer and then stop, so Sophie answers for me. "I'm just guessing here, but I have a feeling she'd probably want to kick your ass for letting yourself go like you have. Now, I could be wrong. She might have been happy that you've moped around for as long as you have, but from what little you've told me, I somehow doubt that would be the case."

I look at the woman sitting next to me. "I wish I could say for certain, but I can't. Maybe that is part of the problem. Maybe it's just because I don't know if she's still alive or if she's not. I'd like to think I would have handled this better if I had known she was dead, but the truth is, I don't. I don't know that they way I've acted and reacted is wrong. I don't know that it is right. I just don't _know_."

She runs her hand lightly along my arm; it is more comforting than I expected. "Mike, you did what you thought was best at the time. You did what Sydney asked you to do. You can second guess yourself until you're blue in the face, but it's not going to change what happened. You have to start believing that. It wasn't your fault."

As I listen to her words, I wonder why they make more sense now than they did a month ago when Weiss tried to tell me basically the same thing. And then I realize that a month ago, I wasn't ready to hear them. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"I think you know."

She smiles and finishes her club soda. "You're welcome."

I grab the coffee, which has cooled considerably, and take a drink. Suddenly something she said earlier hits me. "What did you mean when you said marriage didn't agree with you?"

"I just meant that Matt and I didn't get married."

"Can I ask what happened?"

She laughs. "Mike, after what I just got you to tell me, I think I can tell you what happened between me and Matt."

"So?"

"Matt's advertising agency merged with another, larger, company. The woman who was sent as the liaison ended up working very closely with Matt and his staff. One night I went to surprise him with dinner and, to make a short story even shorter, I was the one who was surprised."

"I'm sorry, Soph."

She shrugs her shoulders. "Oh well, as it turned out, I threw myself into my work and managed to work my way up the food chain. And now instead of checking magazine copy, I'm writing it."

"Well whatever you've been doing, it seems to agree with you. You really do look great."

"I already said that you are still as much a gentleman as you ever were, so you can stop already," she says. She glances quickly at her watch. "Shit, Mike, I'm sorry, I have to go. I have a meeting I have to prep for."

"Okay." I stand up, helping her out of her chair. She picks up her bag and turns to leave, but I stop her. "Why don't we have dinner tonight? You know, catch up on all things boring."

"God, I'd love to, but I'm supposed to fly back tonight."

I nod slowly. I'm surprised to find that I'm a little disappointed by the fact that she won't be able to join me tonight. "I understand. It was good to see you."

She embraces me quickly, placing a light kiss on my cheek. "It's good seeing you too. Even if you do look like shit."

"Gee, thanks."

"I'll see you. Take care of yourself."

"You too," I say before giving her a final hug goodbye As I watch her go, I hear her words echo in my mind. _If Sydney saw you right now, what would she say?_ Suddenly, the answer is clear. She almost to the door when I run to catch up with her.

My hand grasps hers as she reaches for the door. "Michael?"

I don't know if what I'm doing is right or wrong. I don't know if Sydney would approve or not. I just know that I need to do this. "Sophie, don't go back tonight. Stay. Please."

She doesn't even hesitate. She just nods her head. "Okay.

TBC… (only one part left)


	6. Desolation chapter 6 Epilogue

Well here it is, the final part.

Please see previous parts for all disclaimers and such.

Thanks!

Becky

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_…this woman will render the greatest power unto utter desolation…_

_ The Prophecy_

I set the last box down, watching as my wife – it still seems unreal that I have a wife, but then it's only been two months - puts books up on the shelves. "Need any help?"

She looks over her shoulder, her auburn hair escaping the clip and flying around her face, as she puts the last few away. "Nope, that's all of them." She climbs down the ladder, jumping off the last step, and glances at the box resting on the floor beside me. "Is that the last one?"

"Yes."

She walks over, leans down, and starts to pick it up, but I stop her. "Why don't you take a break? I think I can handle this one."

Sophie straightens herself, placing her hands on her hips. "You sure you can manage this _last_ one?"

"Yeah, I think so," I answer sarcastically.

Sophie just raises her eyebrows at my response. "Really? You're positive you can get this _very last_ box?"

"Smart ass," I counter, drawing her to me and wrapping my arms securely around her before I lean forward and capture her lips in a soft kiss. She surprises me by deepening it, but I eagerly follow her lead.

A moment later, she pulls away. "If you'd ask me to help, we could get it done faster and move on to _other_ things," she suggests seductively as her fingers lightly dance across my chest.

"Mrs. Vaughn…" I begin as I reach up and undo the clip that is holding her hair.

"Yes, _Mr. Vaughn_?"

I run my fingers through the silky strands and when they reach the end, I let them slip to the buttons on the shirt she's wearing. _Damn, she does look cute in my shirts..._ "Let's forget the box."

"I love your thinking."

"I was hoping you would," I answer as I pick the box up to move it out of the way. I set it on the end table next to the sofa, but my ring catches on the flap. When I pull my hand back, trying to free it from the cardboard, the ring slides off my finger, dropping on to the table. I shake my head as I pick it up.

I'm still holding it when the phone rings. "I've got it."

She comes up behind me as I'm about to answer. She snakes her arms around my waist. "Just get rid of them," she whispers, her fingers doing things that are making it _very _ hard to think coherently.

I grab the receiver just as the answering machine is about to pick up. "Hello?"

"Vaughn?"

My breath catches and I immediately break Sophie's hold and sit down on the sofa. "Jack?"

"I wanted you to know. We just got a call."

Everything starts to close in on me and I have to force myself to remember to breath. Sophie touches my hand, her concern evident. "What call?"

"We just received confirmation. In Hong Kong. We've got her."

This is the call I've been dreading for the past twenty-two months. They've finally found her body. I close my eyes, trying to hold back the tears as Sophie wraps her arms around me, comforting me as best she can. The hand holding the phone is shaking uncontrollably. "I understand."

"We need you to go to Hong Kong to retrieve her."

I'm about to question why Jack isn't the one going, but then I think about it and I realize it's only fitting that I am the one to go. A father should never be put through the torture of bringing his child's body home. 

I can only wonder what I'll find when I get there. Will she bear marks, evidence of her captor's cruelty? Will it be a bullet to the head? Or will it just look like she's sleeping? In any case, it won't really matter because no matter how she looks, she'll still be dead.

"Vaughn? Did you hear me?"

"I'm sorry, Jack." I pause before continuing, "I need to know. How bad?"

"How bad? What do you mean?"

"How bad is it?" I ask.

"Vaughn, haven't you been listening? You need to go get Sydney."

"I heard you and I _do_ understand, Jack. I just need to know. How bad is it?"

"No," Jack states emphatically. "I don't think you do."

"What do you mean?"

"She's alive, Vaughn. Sydney's alive."

fin


End file.
